Hopes and Dreams
by snooky-9093
Summary: The contents of crates found in a nearby cave lead Newkirk on an emotional roller-coaster, and prompt the POW's to question what, if anything, they could have done. PBA award winner. Gold-best long drama, Silver, Best overall story, silver, best original character (Chaplain Waverly)
1. Chapter 1

_The idea for this piece has been simmering inside of me since I read "The Book Thief" a few years ago. This result comes from that experience and my goal to finally feature Newkirk in a longer story. I have discussed this with quite a few people, and I thank all of you for your feedback and advice. And regarding Newkirk's accent... I've decided not to adjust his dialogue. You can all hear him in your head!_

Hopes and Dreams

Chapter One

"The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame."  
― Oscar Wilde, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_

It was supposed to be an easy mission. In fact, Newkirk hadn't even balked when he was "volunteered" to go out that night. His job was to meet their contact, exchange the information, and come straight back to camp. Newkirk and the Underground agent were wrapping up, when both men froze, their senses alerting them to trouble.

They both were skilled enough that, like an animal, they could tell what was coming minutes before the rumble in the ground alerted someone with less experience.

"Trouble," the German stated. He sounded calm, but his body tensed. "Feels like a convoy."

"Bloody hell." Newkirk dropped to the ground. "Probably tanks as well as lorries."

The two headed for the brush at the side of the road. To their dismay, a convoy _was_ heading their way, and to make matters worse, men on foot were walking alongside the vehicles. Some detoured onto the side of the road, shining lights into the wooded areas.

"They must be looking for saboteurs." Newkirk glanced back at the woods. "We should separate," he said to the older man. "No sense both of us getting caught." The Londoner began to run scenarios through his head. He was younger, in better shape, and while in civilian clothes, possibly able to convince someone that he was, indeed, an escaped prisoner. The man he knew only as Jack Sprat was in his 50's, and out past curfew. Newkirk made an executive decision. "You head back that way," he pointed. "Take the shortcut back to town. I'll make a run for it."

"You can't go back to camp the way you came," the civilian argued. "You'll most likely be seen."

"I have a place to hide." Newkirk patted the man's arm. "Go."

Jack nodded and took off.

Newkirk quickly turned and headed in the opposite direction. He kept as low as possible while keeping up a steady pace. The sounds of the vehicles probably drowned out the noise of the leaves and twigs, but any crunch or snap sent his heart racing. He knew where to go. Just a week ago, he and Olsen were out this way scouting for suitable hiding places for men and materials, when they came across a small cave. A deer spooked Newkirk-after all, he was a city boy-and while floundering, he fell into a large thicket of brambles. Once Olsen stopped laughing, he helped Newkirk up and then cleared away a bit of the brush, realizing as he did so, that the foliage did not seem natural. The two investigated further and discovered a hidden entrance to a cave. They decided to check it out, but when the skies unexpectedly darkened, they quickly headed back to camp rather than get soaked. No one since had the time to check out the spot. _Well,_ Newkirk thought. _This is as good a time as any._

Newkirk was a good tracker and had a great sense of direction. Running through the streets of London in his youth served him well. To his relief, he arrived safely at the spot. Once the convoy and troops passed, he would return to camp by morning roll call. Within a minute, he had the foliage cleared, and he was able to slip into the cave. Although it was pitch black, he managed to cover up the entrance from the inside. "Good as new," he murmured. Fortunately, he was not afraid of the dark, nor was he claustrophobic. He could not hear any signs of the foot soldiers heading his way, but, to be safe, he decided to step a bit further back. He placed his hands alongside one of the cold, clammy walls and slowly felt his way back several yards. Now he felt comfortable enough to turn on his torch.

"Let's have a look at what we've got." He ran the torch along the floor, then up to the ceiling, and then along the walls. The cave was like the others that dotted the area around Hammelburg. They were normally small and did not go back too far. This one appeared to be a bit larger, which was good. _Doesn't look like anyone's been in here recently._ Newkirk knelt down and checked the floor. The dirt was soft and wet, but he saw no signs of footprints. _But why hide the entrance?_ _And for how long?_ There was a small curve in the walls several yards ahead, and he could not see behind it. Newkirk hugged the wall. It always paid to be safe. The end of the cave was in sight, and thankfully, no one-not even an animal larger than a mouse-was there. His torch lit up the back wall. He then lowered it, and was startled by what he saw.

Newkirk instinctively stepped back. People had been in the cave. A set of crates, two to be exact, were on the floor by the back wall. "Blimey." Now over his shock, Newkirk's curiosity got the best of him, and he walked forward. He now saw the crates were on two pallets, raised up, he assumed, to keep any water from seeping in. Someone had taken great care when loading. In addition to the pallets, a waterproof tarp sat underneath the crates, which he guessed measured about three feet by four.

There were no markings on the outside, nothing to determine who owned them, who placed them here, or how long they had been in the cave. Newkirk walked around the three sides. _We need to know what's in these._ He was definitely sure Colonel Hogan would be interested. Explosives? Perhaps meant for another Underground unit? Was it a trap? Something the Nazis didn't want anyone to see? No, that didn't make sense. It was sheer luck that he and Olsen found the site. He knelt down a bit and then attempted to move one of them. It didn't budge. Heavy, definitely heavy.

Newkirk stood up. The appropriate and wise thing to do would be to report what he had discovered to Colonel Hogan. The colonel would then send out a team to look at the find; heck, he'll probably come out here himself. Newkirk decided to save his battery, and he turned off the torch. Using the wall as a guide, he slowly maneuvered his way to the front of the cave, and listened for the sound of the convoy. If it wasn't too long, it was probably gone and he could leave. He poked his ear out of a small break in the camouflage. It was clear. Newkirk crawled through the brush, turned and covered up the gaps. Now safe, he headed back to the Stalag.

* * *

A relieved Kinch greeted Newkirk as the corporal stepped off the bottom rung of the ladder that led up to the tree stump. "You're late." Kinch said. "Everyone is still up." He stole a quick look at Newkirk. Satisfied that the corporal was uninjured, he stepped back.

"No need to wait up, mate." Newkirk said, although it was pointless. The sergeant normally waited down below at night when operatives were outside the wire. Newkirk paused to brush off more of the brambles clinging to his civilian clothes. "Before I change, best go show them I'm in one piece."

"Second that." Kinch followed Newkirk up into the barracks. Most of the men were on their bunks, while several waited around the table. Hogan immediately put down the cup of coffee he was nursing and sauntered over to the bunk. He waited until both men climbed over the wood, and then he pressed the mechanism closing the entrance.

"Had to take a bit of a detour, Guv'nor." Newkirk removed his cap and fingered it.

"What happened?" Hogan asked. "Sit down. You all right?"

"Want some coffee?" LeBeau asked. "You look cold. Or I could make some tea."

Newkirk nodded. "Coffee is fine, if it's ready. And I'm right as rain." Newkirk grabbed a chair. "We almost ran into an unscheduled convoy, complete with tanks and Krauts walking alongside. The nerve of them. They were heading into the brush alongside of the road. We thought they were looking for something or someone."

LeBeau placed a mug on the table. "Ta." Newkirk placed his hands around the mug, warming them for a moment before he took a sip.

"I asked them to send us the schedules," Hogan joked. "So you both took off?"

"We separated."

Hogan rubbed his chin. "We need to make sure Jack made it back all right."

"Where'd you hide?" Carter asked.

"In the cave Olsen and I discovered last week." Newkirk took a sip of the coffee and made the usual face; the kind he made when his mum made him take foul-tasting medicine. He caught Hogan's look. "I know the cave wasn't cleared by a team, sir. But, it was in the right place at the right time."

"Well, you obviously didn't get discovered," Hogan answered.

"Hey, good thinking, buddy." Olsen hopped down off his bunk and shivered. He was in his bedclothes, and realizing his mistake, he grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself. "So, how was it?"

"Dark and damp." Newkirk grinned. "Not too deep, but deep enough…" He stopped for a moment and took another drink of the hot liquid, which now that he was warming up, didn't taste as bad. "But, I do have something to report."

After explaining his find, Newkirk went below, changed and returned to the hut. Meanwhile, Hogan decided to table the discussion until morning, and the rest of the men returned to their bunks. The crates weren't going anywhere, he said, and roll call was in four hours.

Thankfully, the morning count was over quickly and the prisoners scattered and went about their business. After a quick breakfast in the mess hall, Hogan and his core team gathered in his office to discuss what Newkirk found in the cave.

"I think we should open them, sir. There could be explosives, weapons, chemicals. Who knows?" Carter's enthusiasm was infectious and there were murmurs of agreement from the other men. "Maybe some resistance fighters we don't know of yet stored the crates there."

"Someone could be coming back for them, and it could be a trap set to capture resistance fighters." Hogan's common sense put a damper on the conversation. "Although, it's definitely not the best place to set a trap. Chances are no one would take the bait."

Newkirk frowned, as he was now having second thoughts. "You could be right. What if they're booby-trapped? Maybe by the resistance. Or something we do can set them off? We open them, and boom!"

"Oh, that's easy to find out, Newkirk," Carter said. "Did they say danger, explosives?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "If they said that, they wouldn't be booby-trapped then, would they?"

Hogan walked back and forth for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. "Carter, there is a way we can find out if there are any explosives in there, isn't there?"

"Oh, sure, Colonel. First of all, I doubt there is a timer already going off. They would have to know that someone would be in there. So listening with a stethoscope isn't gonna help. We need Blümchen. She's got the nose for explosives." The smaller, friendly shepherd boasted many useful skills, and detecting volatile substances was a new addition to her repertoire.

Hogan nodded. "We need to find out what's in those crates before a civilian gets hurt. LeBeau, can you get Blümchen into the tunnels tonight?"

"Of course, Colonel. She's not on night duty this week."

"Good," Hogan stated. "You, Carter and Newkirk are with me. Tonight, we'll head back to the cave and see what is in those crates."

* * *

Just past midnight, the four men, dressed in their black camouflage outfits, struggled to get Blümchen up the ladder and out the emergency tree stump entrance. The dog balked.

"Mon Dieu." LeBeau wiped his brow. "She's usually not afraid."

"It's a new environment. I don't think she's ever gone out this way." Hogan reached down, scratched the dog's head, and was rewarded with a tail wag. "The rungs are steeper. They're straight up."

This was true. The rungs that lead from the doghouse entrance to the tunnel system were staggered.

"All right ma petite fleur." LeBeau reached down and scooped the dog up in his arms. "I'll hand her up. No wait. I can't reach." He handed the dog to Hogan.

"Carter, you go up first. I'll hand her to you."

"Right, Colonel." Carter scrambled up the ladder and opened the lid of the trunk. He held his hand out as a warning that the searchlight was passing. Once it was clear, he reached down and grabbed the dog. "Good girl. Down." Blümchen flopped on the grass. He rubbed the dog's back. "Okay. It's clear for one more," he yelled.

The four men and the dog headed into the woods and took the quickest path to the cave. Within a half-hour, they reached the area, and Newkirk led them to the hidden entrance. It was untouched since he left the previous evening. "Watch the brambles," he warned. "Nasty. They'll poke right through your clothes if you're not careful."

He and Carter carefully removed the obstacles and made an entrance wide enough for the dog to pass through unscathed. After the group walked through, they replaced the foliage from the inside.

"This way." Newkirk took the point.

All four torches were on as they walked down to the far end. They gazed at the crates. Hogan then did the same as Newkirk the evening before. The colonel walked around them several times, touching the top, pausing and then stepping back. "What do you think, Carter?" he asked his munitions expert.

"They seem to have taken a lot of care to keep them dry." He knelt down and took a better look. "Anything could be in here."

"All right. Let's get the expert on it," Hogan ordered. "LeBeau. You're up."

"Come on, my little flower." He reached into his pocket and gave Blümchen a treat. "Let's see if you smell anything bad in there. Or good, perhaps." Schnitzer trained the shepherd to sit and paw the ground if she detected anything with explosives residue. LeBeau led the dog to the crates and took her off the leash. "Search," he stated.

The dog, tail wagging, began her task. She sniffed all around the crates, and was able to crawl in between the crates and the wall as well. After about ten minutes of sniffing, she walked back over to LeBeau and barked.

"Nothing," LeBeau said. "Good girl." He patted her on the head and gave her a few more treats.

"Good." Hogan stepped over to the crates. "I guess it's safe to open these up. Newkirk. You found them. Want to do the honors?"

Newkirk picked up the crowbar and pried open the lid on the crate nearest to him. Once it was loose, he and Carter gingerly slid it off and placed it on the floor next to the pallet. The men took their lights and shined them inside. An oilcloth covered the contents.

"Let's get that oilcloth out of here," Hogan said as he reached in and picked it up. He folded it and put it down next to the lid. "Okay. What is hiding in there?"

"Oh, my." Newkirk was the first to get a look inside the crate. He looked up at the three men. "I don't think these belong to the Nazis or the Underground, sir. Looks like books." The books were packed in layers, each layer covered with another piece of oilcloth. He reached in and came up with a handful.

"The people that put them there took a lot of care to make sure the books were safe from the elements." Hogan reached in and picked up another handful.

"What kind of books, Colonel?" Carter peeked into the crate and looked up. Meanwhile, LeBeau, who had perched himself on the end of one of the pallets, rose up and headed over to the others.

Hogan and Newkirk piled the books on top of one of the closed crates and began going through the collection.

"Literature not on the Nazi's approved reading list, that's for sure," Hogan murmured. "A mix of German and other languages. Einstein, Hemingway. Proust."

"I've got Jack London. Mark Twain. Both translated into German," Newkirk said. "Some of these other authors…I don't recognize them. Wolf, Steiner."

"Wolf is Jewish, and I think Steiner was Austrian," Hogan replied.

LeBeau and Carter were now examining the next layer. "Several volumes of Verne." LeBeau handed them to Carter who placed them next to Hogan and Newkirk's finds. "H.G. Wells. Helen Keller, and these look like children's books."

Newkirk looked up at Hogan. The light of the lantern just outlined the Cockney's face. The corporal wiped tears out of his eyes.

"You all right, Newkirk?" asked the colonel.

"They were trying to save their personal library. It's criminal." Newkirk began placing the books gently back into the crate. "I feel like we're trespassing."

The three other men looked at one another in surprise. That was the last thing they expected Newkirk to say.

"Are we going to open the other crate, sir?" LeBeau asked.

Hogan took a deep breath. He looked at Newkirk for a moment and then nodded. "Yes."

Newkirk did not protest, but he stood aside and watched as Carter removed the lid of the second crate. Like the first, the contents of the crate were carefully and lovingly packed. The corporal sighed and headed over. "Just as I suspected." He reached in and brought out another book. "Hebrew." He handed a prayer book over to Hogan.

"What else is in there?" the colonel asked. "Looks like more than just books."

This time, a now curious Newkirk and an equally curious LeBeau, carefully emptied the entire contents. After they were done, the group examined their find.

"Not what I would expect." Carter looked but did not touch anything. "Doesn't seem to be valuable."

"It's valuable to the owners, it is." Newkirk pointed to what appeared to be a scarf. He put on a pair of gloves and carefully removed the material. Unfolded, it measured about 6 feet long and 4 feet wide. The material was silky, with a simple pattern of blue and white lines on the end, and knotted fringes attached to its four corners "Look at this. It's a prayer shawl."

Hogan pointed to a small piece of material. "A yarmulke."

"What are these books?" Carter asked Newkirk. He was pointing to a set of small books with colorful illustrations on the covers.

Newkirk held his torch close to the cover. "Passover books. Haggadahs. For their Seders."

"They're beautiful," LeBeau whispered. "You said you've been to a Seder."

"Friends of ours in the East End." Newkirk gently picked up a wine glass. He checked it over carefully. "Not worth much. But old." He placed it down. There were other items, none worth a lot of money; but they were of obvious sentimental value. He picked up a tiny, but pretty, rectangular box. He wasn't sure of its meaning, but he recalled seeing similar items on many doorjambs in the neighborhood. He placed it down, and then unrolled a scroll in Hebrew. "Not sure what this is," he mentioned to the others.

"No photographs?" Hogan asked.

"No, sir. That's it. Just the books and the religious heirlooms." Newkirk sighed, wondering whom the items belonged to and what happened to the owners.

"Let's pack everything up the way we found it, and seal up the crates." Hogan stepped back and took a short stroll. After a few moments, he returned.

"I think we should try and find the owners." Newkirk looked up at Hogan.

"Absolutely not. We can't let anyone know. Asking questions and spreading this around would garner too much interest from the wrong people." Hogan's voice was firm. "And this cave is off-limits to us. Shame, it's a decent hiding place. If we do ever come back, I'll want to know if someone has been here. We'll need to set a trap."

Hogan and his operatives were experts when it came to returning items so no one could tell they were touched. He helped his men by covering up some of the wine glasses, and a large menorah. Once the men replaced the lids and nailed them back down, the men set a trap only they could see, rearranged the brambles and other camouflage at the entrance, left the cave and headed back to the Stalag.

* * *

 _Yes, this is a story with a Holocaust connection, but it is not graphic in any way. I chose not to make LeBeau Jewish in this story._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for the reviews of chapter one. I am humbled by the response._

Chapter 2

The next few weeks were very busy. The team committed several big acts of sabotage, rescued a few fliers, and processed several escaped prisoners.

Finally able to enjoy a rare bit of idle time, the men relaxed. Newkirk and Olsen were going for a walk around the compound, when Newkirk decided to confide in Olsen and talk about the items in the crates.

"It's like I feel obliged to find out what happened to those people," Newkirk explained to Olsen as they discussed what was found. "I just can't get it out of me mind."

The sergeant examined his fingernails, and then let out a breath. "Like the colonel said, asking questions could cause more problems. You're walking a dangerous path." The men were now by the area of the fence that rose up and down. "No one's looking," Olsen stated. "Cover me." The watchtower guards could not see this part of the fence, as it was in a rare blind spot; but the two needed to look out for men patrolling the compound.

"Right-o." Newkirk turned and kept an eye out for the guards.

Olsen quickly examined the mechanism. Satisfied everything was in working order, he jogged the few yards over to where Newkirk stood. "Right as rain," he stated.

Newkirk happily gaped at his friend. "I'll have you turned into a Londoner if you aren't careful." He smiled, pleased that his King's English, the best kind, he would say, was rubbing off on his hut mate. Although, he admitted to himself, his Cockney colloquialisms and his accent pegged him as lower class and often closed doors. He shrugged it off. Class issues were part of being British, and he suspected it would never change.

"Not a chance. I don't do well in fog." Olsen playfully batted Newkirk.

Newkirk laughed, then turned serious. "How many Jewish families do you think lived in Hammelburg, then?"

Olsen sighed. "I don't know off-hand. Not too many, I'd wager. Why?" He raised his eyebrows and gave Newkirk a look. "Remember what I said. And that's an order."

"No worries. I won't do anything rash. The guv'nor would have my guts for garters if I did."

"A court-martial after the war is more likely." Olsen began walking towards the middle of the compound.

Newkirk followed. Their outside man was right. Not only would he be in hot water with the colonel, but also asking questions would put them all in danger, and also endanger innocent civilians. He decided to table his curiosity for now.

That lasted for a mere fortnight. This time, Newkirk found himself walking over to the chaplain's barracks during office hours. He hesitated for a few moments, and then walked in.

The young Methodist chaplain, Lieutenant John Waverly, bunked in the only other hut that featured a separate office. He was shocked to see Newkirk standing outside his door.

"Corporal? Is something wrong?"

"No, sir. Nothing is wrong. I came to see you."

"Oh. Well, welcome. Please come in and have a seat." Waverly stepped aside.

Newkirk entered the chaplains' quarters and sat down in the plain wooden chair located next to a small desk. Although the common room was empty—Waverly usually held open hours when the men in the barracks were at the rec hall-the chaplain closed his door, and then took a seat in the other chair.

"What can I do for you?" he asked. Waverly was curious and a bit worried. Newkirk was reluctant to discuss problems with anyone, and the corporal often put on an air of bravado, even when he was hurting.

"Well, it's like this…" Newkirk hesitated.

"Anything said here is completely confidential," Waverly assured him.

"I know." Newkirk fidgeted a bit in the chair, and then leaned forward. "You know, I'm not a religious man. Never had time for it. Not me thing."

"I remember." Waverly smiled. "You told me that the first time we met. I council everyone. That's why I'm here. Well, not exactly. I was captured. Well, you know what I mean."

Newkirk smiled and nodded. He liked the chaplain; all the men, whether Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, Atheist or indifferent, did. "I have something on me mind. And I can't get over it. And I don't know who else to talk to."

"Fair enough. That's what I'm here for."

"It started when I was out on an information drop…"

Waverly listened intently as Newkirk described how he discovered the cave, told Hogan about what was hidden there, and how he, Carter, LeBeau and the colonel examined the contents of the crates.

"I wasn't even sure what I was looking at, except for the prayer book, and the Haggadahs," Newkirk said. "Once we saw what was in the crates, we didn't take any photographs. It felt like we were stepping on a graveyard. Or something sacred. It didn't feel right."

"Was that the colonel's decision?" Waverly asked gently.

"No, it was a mutual decision. Wish Carter had taken the photos."

"Well, that can't be helped. I think you all did what you thought was best. The rectangular item you describe sounds like a Mezuzah. You said you've seen something like it on doorjambs?"

"That's right."

"Yes, that's it. It designates a Jewish home. The Mezuzah refers to the case and the piece of parchment inside the container. There are Torah verses on there. The other item. Were there any other markings or drawings?"

"No. Just Hebrew letters."

"Can you sketch out the size or anything else you remember?" Waverly handed Newkirk a pencil and a pad of paper.

Newkirk drew a rectangle. "It was about this size." He wrinkled his brow as he tried to recall what he had seen. "The letters, they read right to left and were like this. With two columns." He scribbled on the paper. "And then on the bottom, there were more letters."

Waverly nodded. "It's hard to say without seeing it. But, considering they packed away what may be their most prized sentimental possessions, it could be a marriage contract or a baby-naming certificate."

"Wouldn't those have names? It looked like they didn't want to be identified."

"Well, they certainly were taking chances. The books are one thing; well, most of them, anyway. But the other items identify the owners as Jewish." Waverly leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and then sighed. "They must have known they were being deported. Why else would they hide the books and include incriminating items? It's odd there aren't any photographs."

Newkirk thought about that for a moment. "I agree," he said. "We were careful with the contents of the crates, but we didn't check through all the books. I wonder if there is anything hidden inside the pages."

"Well, maybe they took the photos with them. They are easier to pack." Waverly stood up. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Ta, but no." Newkirk rose from his chair. "Thank you; you've been a lot of help."

Waverly looked a bit confused. "Not sure what I've done, besides listening. It is quite a mystery."

"I'll say." Newkirk frowned. "Lieutenant, what do you think happened to all these people? I know some went to a camp near Munich. There were so many. Louis found out that a lot of them, those that went to France, were sent on trains back east."

"I heard." Waverly absentmindedly brushed away a bit of hair that found its way to his forehead. "To be honest, there was a lot of violence and attacks even before this war started. That camp near Munich has been open since '33. They first put political prisoners in there. Whatever is happening, it's a disaster. And, we've turned away some of these people." *

Newkirk gazed at the chaplain. "It must be hard for you. Seeing and knowing about all these horrible things."

Waverly smiled. "I do a lot of questioning, and a lot of praying. We all have to deal with it in our own way."

The outside door creaked. "Someone else is here," Newkirk said as he headed for Waverly's door.

"Newkirk."

The Englishman turned. "Sir?"

"I normally don't say anything about the risks you take," Waverly said. "It's not my place. But, be careful. If you are thinking of doing something or following up, for whatever reason, I don't want to see you get into any trouble with the colonel. And I don't want to see you get hurt."

Newkirk paused for a moment. "I'm always careful." _Except the last time I screwed up,_ he recalled. _Well, this doesn't involve pretty women who turn out to be working for the Gestapo._ He left Waverly's office, acknowledged the man waiting in the common room, and left the hut.

* * *

 _a/n: my OC, Chaplain John Waverly, first appeared in my 2009 story, "He Who Saves a Single Life, Saves the Entire World." He also made an appearance in "Mea Culpa" and "With a Song in my Heart." Blumchen, who appeared in chapter one, was first introduced in "With a Song in My Heart", and later appeared in "Keeping Up Appearances."_

for more info on Mezuzahs: www . jewfaq signs . htm # Mezuzah (remove the spaces)

*The camp near Munich is Dachau, which was first opened in 1933 to hold political prisoners. It served as a "model" concentration camp and as a training ground for SS personnel. Over 200,000 people passed through the camp from 33-45. Approximately 42,500 were murdered there. The Americans liberated the camp on April 29, 1945. It is open today as a memorial site. When I visited there in 1981, I walked around with groups of German students. (they were there on field trips)

* for more information about what the western Allies knew and when, and their response, please go to the US Holocaust Museum website.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

Observing his friend going into the chaplain's hut, Carter made sure he bumped into Newkirk shortly after he left the hut and entered the compound. "Oops, sorry. Didn't see you there, buddy." Carter stood still, his hands in his pants pockets and a goofy grin on his face.

"Blimey, Carter. You almost knocked me on me bum." Newkirk raised his eyebrows. The compound was not exactly like Liverpool Street station on a weekday morning. There was plenty of room. "Something up? You ran into me on purpose."

"Um. No. Well, actually, I was about to ask you the same thing. Anything wrong?"

"No, of course nothing is wrong." Newkirk began walking towards the barracks, and Carter tagged along.

"Well, it's just that I never saw you go to see Lieutenant Waverly, that's all."

Newkirk stopped and glared at the sergeant. "A man's religious needs are his own business."

About to give Newkirk a rejoinder, Carter then thought better of it, and shut his mouth. He cleared his throat. "You're right. Sorry."

"No worries," Newkirk mumbled. He then continued on his way towards the hut. He opened the door and headed for his bunk. About half of the hut's occupants were in the common room. Colonel Hogan, Newkirk knew, was meeting with some of the barracks chiefs, while Kinch and LeBeau were in the tunnels. There was a lull in action, and men were using the free time to their advantage. A few were catching up on chores, while others were writing letters or resting.

Olsen sat up on his bunk as Newkirk entered the room. Carter and the outside man exchanged glances, with Carter offering a small shrug.

Newkirk opened up his footlocker, and after digging through his materials for a moment, retrieved a book. He hopped up onto his bunk, settled down into a comfortable position and began reading. After several pages, he stopped. "Carter?"

"Yes?" The sergeant was at the sink, rinsing out some socks. He wrung out the pair and pinned them to a line stretching across the room.

Newkirk sat up and swung his legs over the side. "Do you remember any of the titles of those books we found?"

"Some." Carter wiped his hands on a towel. "Why?"

Olsen hopped down from his bunk on the other side of the hut. Now interested, Goldman, Broughton, Saunders and Mills also looked on.

"I know it was quick and dark, but there were some children's books in there. Right?"

Carter scrunched up his face, and thought for a moment. "Well, we didn't do an inventory, but LeBeau thought so."

"You're right. Ta." Newkirk turned back to his book, and then after several minutes, he hopped down to the floor. "Anyone want this? It's Agatha Christie. I've read it five times."

"Sure, I'll take it. I've only read it twice," Goldman answered.

Newkirk tossed it to him. "I'm going to the rec hall," he announced. Without waiting for an answer, Newkirk headed for the door.

"It's not open right now," Olsen yelled after him. "That was plain weird," he told the rest of the men in the room. He then turned to Carter. "Something doesn't seem right with him," he said.

Carter bit his lip and nodded. "I know."

* * *

The rec hall was closed off to prisoners at this time of day, but a locked building never stopped Newkirk. He easily dodged the guards and broke in. It was a clear morning, and the sun seeped through the windows, offering enough light so that Newkirk could see without turning on the overhead bulbs. He passed the ping-pong table and came across the card table. He stared at the jigsaw puzzle in progress and passed that up as well. The small prison library was over by the far wall, and that is where he stopped.

The men in charge of the rec hall enjoyed playing librarian; the books were well-organized on tidy shelves, and the librarians set up their own easy to use cataloging and checkout system, which was religiously adhered to by the rank and file. Even Colonel Hogan could not borrow a book without signing it out. Newkirk had no true idea as to why he felt drawn to this place at this moment.

Grabbing a chair, Newkirk dragged it across the floor and placed it in front of the shelves. He sat down, and elbows on his knees, hands cupping his chin, he stared at the books. The collection consisted of reading material sent by the Red Cross, supplemented by what prisoners received in their care packages. Once the book made the rounds of the barracks several times, it usually found its way here. Fiction, organized by genre, and then by author, took up the top two shelves. The next four shelves held various types of nonfiction, as well as some journals and magazines. Some of the books were used during classes taught by fellow prisoners. He noticed a volume out-of-place, reached over, and put it in its rightful spot.

He gently ran his fingers alongside the binders of the books. Newkirk was a tactile person, and he could almost tell from touch which volumes were widely used. The men were bored, and they would read anything available. Whether the subject was tropical fauna or the history of pastry, the volumes circulated. The books that could take men away from this place, if only in their minds, were the most popular. These included adventure, mysteries, and westerns.

The collection featured several languages. English, followed by French, were the most numerous. Klink was aware that several prisoners, including Hogan, spoke German, and he helpfully offered a few nondescript and approved volumes for the collection. The Geneva Convention allowed religious texts, but only Christian publications took up shelf space.

Newkirk sighed. He erred in coming here. Rather than sparking a renewed interest in reading, seeing the prison library made him reflect even more about the collection of books and family artifacts in the cave, and that did not alleviate his morose state of mind.

"Ah, Mavis, Mum. Dad. If you could see me now, staring at a bunch of books..." The corporal was so engrossed that he did not hear or sense the entrance of another man.

"Newkirk?"

"Oi, blimey, Guv'nor! You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." Hogan scraped a chair across the floor and straddled it. Leaning his arms over the back, he gazed at the small collection of volumes on the shelves.

Newkirk turned his head and looked at the colonel. "Did Carter send you here? Those blokes should mind their own business."

"No, they didn't," Hogan replied. "But they did express their concern that you appeared depressed. I came over here on my own. You weren't in your usual hiding spots. It was a process of elimination."

"Remind me to find a new private hiding place, sir." Newkirk re-assumed his position, and returned to staring at the books.

"Fortunately, I realized you were still in camp." Hogan's gentle reminder, or was it a threat, did not go unnoticed by the Brit.

"I have no intention of going back there, if that is what you're thinking," Newkirk, still facing the shelves, retorted. "Your orders were clear."

Hogan let out a breath. "I don't always like the orders I give, but I like to think I have a good reason for giving them."

"We've been following you for over two years, Colonel. You don't have to worry about a sudden change of heart."

Hogan smiled. "Considering the wacky things I've asked of everyone, I sometimes wonder what I did to deserve the men in this camp. There have been exceptions, of course."

Newkirk shifted his chair around to face the colonel. "Well, we took right bloody good care of them."

"That we did." Hogan noticed Newkirk's eyes, which were moist.

"I haven't been the best role model me self," the corporal announced.

"Well, we've all had our moments," Hogan reminded him. He stood up, stretched his back, and walked over to the window. Satisfied with what he saw, he returned to the shelves, and this time he turned the chair, sat down, leaned back and crossed his ankles, assuming a more casual pose.

"Why come here, Newkirk?" Hogan asked gently.

Newkirk paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "I went to see Lieutenant Waverly today."

"I wasn't aware you did," Hogan replied.

"You don't want to know why?" Newkirk asked.

"None of my business." Hogan reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag, which he held out. "Have some. Last time I was at Klink's for a chess game, these somehow managed to leap into my pocket."

Newkirk took the bag and reached in, pulling out a handful of nuts. "Good catch. Well, thanks for not asking, but I will tell you. I was upset about what we found in the cave. Figured he would be the right person to talk to."

"And was he?"

"He's a good listener. We discussed what items were in those crates. What they meant. What they meant for those people, whoever they are." Newkirk wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "They had children. There were books meant for kids in there." He let out a chuckle. "Funny thing is the chaplain gave me advice in the same roundabout way as did Carter and Olsen. Except Olsen made it an order."

"And what did those items mean, Newkirk?"

Newkirk bit his lip and gazed up at the ceiling for a moment. "You know where I come from."

"East End." Hogan replied.

"Well, we did some bit of traveling when I was a kid, the family trying to scrape together a living. But, the East End is home. Somehow, we'd always end back there. Up until I was twelve, we lived in a cold water flat off Whitechapel Road."

Hogan nodded. "Go on."

"We were too poor to buy much of anything, you see. One of our neighbors gave us, Mavis and me self, a few books. Wasn't our birthdays or anything. They just did. Somehow, they managed to save enough money to buy them. And then we had a library."

"Really?" Hogan asked, a bit surprised.

"The Whitechapel Public library. Opened in 1892," Newkirk said proudly. "Funded by Passmore Edwards. Helped with quite a few libraries, he did."

"I'm sorry. I never heard of him. Do you know if the library is still standing?" Hogan asked, hoping for an affirmative reply.

"He was a liberal MP." Newkirk said. "There was some damage to the library during the Blitz, but it is still standing. We used to spend hours in there. And the first time we learned we could take out books to read at home? Mavis was beside herself. Didn't believe it at first. Mum and Dad? They saved up every spare shilling, and bought us a set of used encyclopedias down at Portobello Road."

"Sounds like they cared a lot about you and your sister. And the neighbors did as well."

"Didn't repay them well, did I?" Newkirk looked down at the floor. "Getting into trouble."

"That's in the past, Newkirk. They're proud of you now." Hogan leaned forward. "There's more, isn't there?"

Newkirk nodded and took a deep breath. "The neighbors that gave us the books? Mavis told me they were bombed out. The whole street was. I don't know where they went." His hands started shaking, and he pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He offered one to the colonel, and then took a drag. "I went back there in '36 when the black shirts came."

"Cable Street," Hogan murmured, as he pocketed the cigarette.

"That's right. The Battle of Cable Street. Bloody fascists marching right into a mostly Jewish neighborhood. Couldn't have that. Not right."

"Were you arrested?" Hogan asked.

"No, I was one of the lucky ones. Arrested the wrong people, the police did, if you ask me. They should have locked up the BUF, not the ones protesting against them."

"I heard it got a bit out of hand, Newkirk," Hogan said. "Not that I don't sympathize with the anti-Fascists."

Newkirk shrugged. "I got really knocked about. So did my old neighbor, Mr. Blum. And he wasn't doing anything. Just watching. Asking why. Some of those bloody, no good, animals knocked him to the ground. An old man. Just like it was Germany. In Jolly ole England." Newkirk reached over and picked up an ashtray. "It's everywhere. Even in the states."

Hogan nodded. "Yeah, that it is. I can't explain it."

Newkirk stubbed out his cigarette, and continued. "And then he loses his house, all his belongings. The school is gone. The synagogue. Everything."

Hogan waited for a moment. "So did your sister," he gently reminded Newkirk. "Lose everything in the Blitz."

"Yes, sir. But she's plucky, me Mavis is. She's doing all right."

"The books and the encyclopedia set were in her apartment," Hogan stated. "They're gone, aren't they?"

Newkirk offered the colonel a wan smile. "That's right." He turned his head downward and squeezed the bridge of his nose. While a bit hotheaded and prone to speaking his mind, Newkirk was normally a private person. This day was proving to be an emotional roller coaster for the Londoner, and opening up, first to the chaplain, and then to the colonel, was taking a toll.

"Guess seeing those things in those crates opened up some wounds," he admitted. "Was too busy for a while to deal with it, but it's just been simmering inside of me. Right in here." He touched his chest.

Hogan smiled, reached over, and gave Newkirk's shoulder a squeeze. "You've recognized the connection. That's a good first step. Listen, Newkirk. There's no shame in having an emotional connection and reaction to what we've seen. We were all affected by what we discovered in the cave. Carter and LeBeau have spoken to me about it; I've spoken with the chaplain myself. Whether it's civilian casualties caused by our sabotage, or fliers we can't save, it all stays up in here." Hogan tapped his head. "It may fade in time, but it will never go away. Dealing with it, well, that's the hard part."

"I need to find out who those people are. What happened to them."

"I know. I'd like to do the same."

Newkirk's face brightened for a moment and he popped up. "There may be a marriage certificate in there or perhaps initials in some of the books. I can go back…"

Hogan rose and held out his hand. "My order stands."

"I see." Newkirk brushed off his pants, and put on his coat. "Well, I don't think we can help these folks out now, anyway," he added with more certainty than he felt.

"They're either in hiding or gone. If they came to us through the Underground-well, that's a different story-but asking questions along that line can have dire consequences."

"I know," Newkirk said, admitting to himself that the colonel was right. "But, It still hurts," he confessed.

"Yes, it does," Hogan agreed.

Newkirk held open the door slightly. "It's not clear," he whispered as he slowly closed it, allowing only a sliver of light to shine through.

Hogan peered out. "I'm feeling lucky. Let's leave," he said with a grin and the customary twinkle in his eye.

Several guards noticed the two leaving the building during unassigned hours. They hurried over to question the prisoners, but one look from Hogan and a promise of cigarettes and chocolate sent the Germans away.

Hogan and Newkirk walked back over to the barracks, Newkirk pausing for a moment before entering the building. "Thanks for listening, Guv'nor." That was all that needed to be said.

Hogan peered at Newkirk for a moment, taking a brief measure of the corporal's state of mind. They had worked so closely for so long, that words were not necessary. Satisfied with what he saw, Hogan nodded, opened the door, and walked into the hut.

Newkirk followed Hogan over to the stove to warm up. As per custom, coffee mugs quickly found their way into their hands, and to Newkirk's relief, not a single man in the hut questioned him or the colonel. The matter was now considered closed. Carter was the only man to show any reaction. He caught Newkirk's gaze and offered a small smile, which Newkirk reciprocated with a slight sheepish grin and an almost imperceptible nod.

* * *

 _Some of the history in this chapter, as well as Newkirk's background, comes directly from my father, who also told me about the public library in the area. He received a set of the "Children's Encyclopedia," which was developed by Arthur Mee, and published by the Educational Book Company, a subsidiary of Amalgamated Press of London from 1908 to 1964. Grolier later acquired the rights to publish it in the U.S. under the name The Book of Knowledge (1910). My dad's set was published in the 20's, and is still on his set of bookshelves. It is fascinating, and an interesting insight into the thought processes of that time period, which now, on occasion, will make you cringe-lauding the empire, the exploitation of the colonies, and Christian culture being brought to other people-among articles on animals, physics, etc. and all the stuff you would expect to find._

 _Yes, my father lived in a cold water flat on Brady Street (off Whitechapel) until he was 12._

 _Portobello Road is the street market featured in the film, "Bedknobs and Broomsticks."_

 _A/N: TheBattle of Cable Street took place on Sunday 4 October 1936 in Cable Street in the East End of London. It was a clash between the Metropolitan Police, overseeing a march by members of the British Union of Fascists, (BUF) led by Oswald Mosley, and various anti-fascist demonstrators, including local Jewish, socialist, anarchist and communist groups. The majority of both marchers and counter-protesters traveled into the area for this purpose. Mosley planned to send thousands of marchers dressed in uniforms styled on those of Blackshirts through the East End, which then had a large Jewish population. (wikipedia)_

 _Whitechapel was the first district in East London to vote for the establishment of a public library by referendum, for which Canon Barnett led the campaign. It was one of fifteen libraries in London funded by philanthropist Passmore Edwards and this building marks the first time this pair collaborated on a building. Various internal reconfigurations in early-C20 such as conversion to open access in 1922. Bomb damage in 1940 to second floor. Aldgate East Underground station entrance inserted in 1937. (historicenglanddotorg)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

While Newkirk often thought of the desperation of the family and their possessions, he followed his commander's orders and reluctantly stayed away from the site. However, with Hogan's assent, several underground members passed by the area a few times over the next months, and reported that there were no signs of activity. Meanwhile, the prisoners had other things on their minds. The pace of the war picked up, and clandestine activities increased as the Allies got closer.

 _April, 1945_

To no one's surprise, Klink gave up the Stalag without a fight. The Germans were quickly moved away from the area, and now called a POW camp in England home. They were fortunate that, due to extenuating circumstances, they were not languishing in one of the many large POW pens set up in the areas the Allies now occupied.

All of the prisoners, as well as their captors, suffered the last few months of the war. About a dozen men left camp for hospitals in the rear the same day the American tanks rolled up to the gates. The remainder departed in convoys that took place over several days. Only the Barracks chiefs, department heads, the few officers, and all the men quartered in Barracks 2 remained, receiving appropriate medical care while being debriefed by intelligence.

Hogan did not forget about the crates, and once things settled down a few days after liberation, he arranged to have the crates removed and brought to camp.

The group of newly liberated prisoners paused at the entrance of the small cave first explored by Newkirk the year before. Miraculously, it appeared the camouflage outside the cave had not been touched since the team was last there. Even more miraculous was the fact that the Allied bombardment during the American advance did not collapse the interior.

The squad of soldiers accompanying Hogan and his men had the prisoners wait until they could determine that the cave was safe and free of German soldiers.

"It's all clear, Colonel," the lieutenant in charge of the squad reported. "The crates are right where you said they would be. No sign of tampering. The triggers you set are still there. We'll get some lights working, and then you can go in."

A larger group than originally planned asked to tag along, and Hogan gave his permission. The colonel, accompanied by his core team, Olsen, Goldman, Wilson, Lieutenant Waverly, and Mayer Seligman, a Jewish chaplain sent over from another unit, filed into the depths of the cave. They all paused at the site where the crates stood.

Both Waverly and the Jewish chaplain said a small prayer over the boxes, and when done, they nodded at Hogan.

"We're ready to move them out," Hogan told the American squad.

Goldman stepped up. "Colonel, what if someone, such as the people who hid these, or a friendly neighbor even, returns here and finds these missing? Won't they think the Nazis stole the crates and burned the stuff?"

The American lieutenant stepped forward. "There will be plenty of patrols and occupying forces around here for quite some time. All someone has to do is ask. Once we leave the area, we'll make sure someone knows about it."

"We'll inform our local contacts." Hogan stepped back. He nodded to his men, who followed him out of the cave.

"Colonel, you and your men can go back to camp. We'll get these loaded on the truck and follow you." The lieutenant then began organizing the removal of the crates.

It was a quiet ride back to camp. Once the soldiers moved the crates into the recreation hall, two corporals from the American squad opened the lids and stepped back.

Waverly and Seligman peered inside the first box. They gently rummaged through the books for several moments, carefully returning the collection to its original state.

"We'll get an inventory of these. I hope that we can find some initials or dedications in one of the books," Waverly stated.

The two chaplains then turned towards the second crate. Newkirk and Hogan were already standing over it, and they stepped aside so the chaplains could get a closer look. Goldman came forward, and Hogan stepped back. "Go ahead," he told Goldman, who then stood right next to Newkirk.

Seligman let out a breath. "Oh, my." He glanced at the ceiling and then looked at Waverly, who waited for a moment before speaking.

"I think that may be a marriage certificate, Mayer. Beneath the prayer shawl."

"Let's have a look." Seligman gently removed the wrapped shawl. "Can you hold this, Sergeant?" He handed it to Goldman, who helpfully took it from the chaplain's arms. Seligman then picked up the roll, straightened it and took a long look, his lips moving silently as he read the Hebrew. "You're correct. It is a marriage certificate."

"That may help us find who these things belong to," Newkirk said, now aware that the task would be difficult and that the chance of the family being alive was very slim.

"We'll do what we can," Seligman said, as he continued reading over the certificate. He looked up, and rubbed his eyes. "You all look like you can use a break. I can start with the inventory. I can get help from some of your colleagues in intelligence."

Wilson now had his arm around Goldman who, while holding the prayer shawl, had backed away. Hogan could see the medic speaking with the sergeant, and he left the two alone. The colonel noticed Olsen and Carter seemed a bit paler than normal, and even Kinch seemed fatigued.

"Colonel Hogan, I think we all need to get some rest," Wilson said, echoing the chaplain. The medic, acting as mother hen to the remaining group, was used to getting his way, and he knew the medical team assigned to the remaining liberated prisoners would back him up.

"Wilson's right. Let's go." Hogan headed for the door, and not wanting to disobey both the medic and their commanding officer, everyone else followed without an argument.

Wilson caught up to Hogan. "Any word from the brass as to how much longer we have to stay here?"

"Maybe another day," replied the colonel. "And then they'll fly us all to London. I'm hoping we can get the continental Europeans back over here as soon as possible. I just wish the Krauts would give up and surrender already."

"They're desperate and crazy." Carter commented to Newkirk. Both were following a few paces behind, and heard the conversation. "They won't surrender. Not yet."

"They know what they did, and they have to answer for it," Newkirk replied. When everyone got word of the horrors unleashed on the Jewish population of occupied Europe, plus the many other innocent civilians, they all reacted differently. Newkirk was immediately ready to leave camp and slit the throat of any Nazi he came across.

At the time, it took all of Hogan's leadership and command skills to keep the prisoners calm. By then, Klink was in his own world of denial and fear, and was not surprised to find out that Hogan knew more than the Kommandant originally suspected. It was, after all, no secret that prisoners all over Germany had access to clandestine radios.

"We're all going to have to answer for it." Goldman, now less shaken than before, continued the conversation once they got back into the hut. "Something should have been done. It wasn't, and by then it was too late."

"What are you talking about, Roy?"

"We turned away…" Goldman stopped. He could see out the window from his bunk, and he spied Lieutenant Seligman hurrying across the compound. "Looks like the Rabbi found something. He's heading over here."

The men all hopped down from their bunks once they heard the knock. One of them opened the door, and the chaplain strolled in. "Sorry to bother you all, but I have some information. Lieutenant Waverly is on his way over." He smiled as LeBeau handed him a mug. "Thanks."

"It's real coffee," LeBeau happily noted.

"Ah, here he is," Seligman said as the door again opened.

"I'll get the colonel." Kinch tapped lightly on the office door, and opened it when he heard Hogan's voice. The colonel was on his top bunk, immersed in a book. "Colonel, the two chaplains are here."

Hogan closed the book, and hopped down. He placed the volume on his desk and then followed Kinch into the common room.

Once everyone settled around the table, Lieutenant Seligman explained what he found.

"We took a good look at all the books, and we found a dedication written in several of them. Nothing uncommon. To my daughter on her birthday. Those type of words. We managed to find two names. Edith and Maxim. But, the marriage certificate contains the full Hebrew names. From that, we have the last names of the couple, and we can extrapolate fairly accurately what the German first names may be."

Newkirk pushed his way forward. "So, what are they?"

"My best guess would be Jakob and Sara," said the Rabbi. "And their last name is Binder."

Newkirk turned to Hogan. "We need to find out what happened to the Jewish population in this area," he said. "And then maybe we can find these people."

"May I remind everyone we are still fighting a war," interjected Major Braxton, one of the SOE contacts instrumental in running Papa Bear's operation. No one noticed when he quietly entered the hut. "We've got millions already dead, people wandering all around Europe, and the Russians to deal with. Plus, more debriefings back in London."

"Colonel, we can't just leave these crates here!"

Hogan silenced Newkirk with a look. He then pursed his lips, and wrapped his arms around himself. "That's crystal clear, Major. However, I think we can still somehow contribute to helping victims of what is sure to be a massive humanitarian disaster, as if the refugees, destruction and killing aren't bad enough. Tell you what. I will compromise. I know some people that can help with this, and I can leave some men here to assist the Rabbi. Say for a week. And then they'll be sent back to London."

"Four days, Colonel Hogan," was Braxton's reply.

Newkirk immediately stepped forward. "I volunteer, sir. Just let me family know I've been delayed."

Hogan smiled. "I had a feeling you would, and I'll make something up to tell them. Wait," he said, as his entire team joined Newkirk. "I said some, not all. Two are plenty."

"I think I can get permission to stay a few more days," Seligman offered.

"Fine. Then it is you, Newkirk, and Lieutenant Waverly. Sorry, Goldman, you're leaving with us. Medic's orders." Hogan waited for the protests to die down before speaking again. "Thought you would all jump at the chance to get out of here."

"Well," Carter looked down at the floor and shuffled. "I thought we'd all be leaving together, that's all. And this is an important mission." The sergeant's face clearly showed his disappointment.

 _HhHhH_

"I'll be back before you have a chance to even miss me," Newkirk told Carter and the rest of his mates the next day. Hogan and the remaining prisoners were ready to ship out. The camp would remain open for a short while, and then the engineers would collapse the tunnels and fill them in. Once there was no remaining sign of the operation, plans were to use the facility for refugees or homeless Germans.

"Good luck, Peter." Kinch shook Newkirk's hand. "Chaplain. Hope you enjoy your short stay in our barracks."

"Look at all the space you two will have here. The whole hut to yourself!" Olsen gave Newkirk a friendly slap on the back, and then left.

Soon only Carter and LeBeau remained. LeBeau gave a last look at the hut he shared with Newkirk for almost 5 years. "Can't believe I'm finally leaving."

"You won't miss this, Louis." Newkirk, now seated on the bottom of one of the bunks stood up and looked out the window. He smiled and turned. "I guess I'll have to take the lookout."

LeBeau laughed, and then stated, "No. I won't miss this."

"Neither will I." Carter said as he and Newkirk exchanged a look. The two then hugged, LeBeau joining in at the last moment.

Newkirk extricated himself. A bit embarrassed, he straightened himself, and then nonchalantly lit a cigarette. "Blimey, fellas. I'll see you in a week."

"No, you won't. It won't be a week," said Hogan, who had slipped inside. "They are giving you three days. That's it. Time to get moving."

Waverly and Newkirk looked at one another. "Well that just tears it, Guv'nor." In frustration, Newkirk threw his cap down on the table.

"You are lucky we got that much. Right now, this is low on the list of priorities. You can thank Major Braxton for the three days. He apparently had a discussion with Wembley, and then the two went to bat for us."

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Then, Newkirk picked up his cap. He faced Hogan. "Thank the major and Colonel Wembley for us. We'll do our best, sir."

Hogan gently grasped Newkirk's arm. "I know you will. He turned to the chaplain. "See he stays out of trouble, Lieutenant." The colonel winked at Waverly, who nodded and smiled back.

"See you both in a few days." Hogan then left the hut.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Newkirk, Waverly, and the Jewish chaplain started their task immediately after the remaining few prisoners cleared out. Their first job was to meet with the people Hogan thought could help, and they were greeted with smiles as they entered Klink's former quarters.

Oskar Schnitzer, the camp's dog handler and the prisoners' main contact with the Underground, approached the three. He shook hands with the two chaplains, and warmly greeted Newkirk and Waverly. Newkirk then introduced Seligman.

"Good to see you. How are you gentlemen?" Schnitzer asked.

"Very well, now that our war seems to be over. Regards from everyone to you and the missus. And the dogs."

Thank you, Corporal Newkirk. I'll pass on your message. You can certainly come see the dogs if you wish. They seem a bit lonely. And your personal war, yes. It may be over. But we still have to surrender. I fear more death. And then we have to face the consequences of our country's actions."

"Not to mention the Russians." A young woman strolled into the room.

"Helga?" Newkirk approached Klink's former secretary, and the two embraced. "This is our chaplain, Lieutenant Waverly. You left before he came."

"I've heard a lot about you."

"And you as well." Helga offered a warm smile. She turned to the other American officer. "And you are?"

"Lieutenant Seligman, ma'am. Temporarily assigned here."

"I heard about the project," Helga told them. "I hope I can be of some help. It's better than sitting around waiting for news."

"How is the baby?" Newkirk asked her.

"Well. He is walking now. Kurt is home with him." Helga's husband, wounded in Africa, was discharged. Like Helga, he secretly worked with the local resistance as best as he could. Before the Americans captured the area, he clerked with the local rationing board. "I visited with Hilda yesterday, and she is coping pretty well."

"Well, she helped us, luv. Not as much as you, of course. But she kept quiet and turned her head when necessary, so to speak."

"I was hoping I could bring her some rations, Peter, if you have some to spare."

"Yes, that has already been arranged," Waverly told Helga. "We have some boxes ready to go. For you, and whomever you think can use them."

"Well, we can all use them, but I will see they go to the most deserving. Thank you, Lieutenant."

Oskar stepped forward. "So, Colonel Hogan explained a little of your project. Now that Max has been made the new Burgomaster, we have access to more records."

"I see cleaning house didn't take long," Newkirk noted happily.

"No. and the American authorities wanted, how did they put it? Continuity, they said. But the true Nazis in town government were purged," Oskar explained.

After Oskar and Helga were given more details, Oskar said, "Gentlemen, we need to go to town hall. The records cannot be moved."

"Then, let's get started. We have transportation and escorts at our disposal." Waverly opened the door and notified a guard that a trip into Hammelburg was necessary.

The transport consisted of an American jeep, driven by a gum-chewing, chatty corporal from Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Another corporal, manning the mounted gun, sat in the back. Oskar and Helga, transport orders in hand, followed in the veterinarian's van. As the jeep drove past the camp perimeter, the passengers could see the damage caused by the recent fighting, as well as the air raids. Allied bombers virtually destroyed the German industrial capacity located in the outskirts of Hammelburg. Fortunately, the town leaders declared Hammelburg an open city, and the municipality suffered little recent damage.

Newkirk was overtaken by emotion as he spied the American flag flying above many of the buildings in the downtown area.

Seligman turned to Newkirk. "Nice to see those hideous flags gone, isn't it, Corporal?"

"Yes, sir."

American troops were all over the downtown area. Just past the hotel, Newkirk spied a long line of German civilians waiting for the food commandeered and rationed by the authorities. Across the street from the town hall, a small group of children crowded around several American soldiers. In broken English, the youngsters begged for candy. His keen eye could tell the war was not over. Many troops, guns still drawn, patrolled the streets.

"This is it. I'll be driving back to the camp. Just give us a holler when you need a ride back, said the driver, as he parked the jeep outside the city hall. The veterinarian's van pulled up behind him. Soldiers quickly surrounded the van, but satisfied with Oskar's letter of passage and orders, they let him exit the vehicle. He jogged around to the passenger side, and opened the door, helping Helga out of the van. Guards searched the two Germans before being allowing them to enter the building. Once inside, they joined Newkirk and the two chaplains.

"This way," Helga said. While acting as Klink's secretary, she often conducted business in the building. Newkirk also conducted business in the building, although not the type sanctioned by the German authorities.

She brought the group to a small office on the third floor. "This office holds all the census records. Our Jewish affairs civil servants are no longer here," she mentioned, vitriol obvious in her tone. "They've been arrested. But this is where all the census documents are."

"All Jewish residents had to declare their religion back in the 30's," Seligman explained to Newkirk.

"I heard that as well," Newkirk replied. "So, where do we start?"

"At the beginning," Oskar said. He went over to the counter and rang the bell. He could see Germans, as well as several Americans, working in the back office. An American lieutenant peered around the door, and left the small room. After introductions and a quick explanation of what the group hoped to find, he asked how he could help. Then, taking a deep breath, the lieutenant glanced at the two German civilians suspiciously. His obvious mistrust led Helga and Oskar to step back.

Seeing this, Newkirk intervened. "They're helping us," he quickly told the lieutenant. "They have for a long time."

"I can vouch for them," Waverly added.

"If you say so." The lieutenant leaned forward and spoke quietly. "Well, the ones back there; they won't be too happy. Claim they knew nothing, and they've got their own troubles."

"How ironic," muttered Newkirk, as he tried to keep his temper in check.

"Seriously, how could they not know something?" The American lieutenant looked at the RAF corporal in front of him. "You all right?"

"Just hoping to get going," Newkirk replied. "So we can get out of here."

Helga gave Newkirk's arm a supportive squeeze. "Is there a place where we can do our research privately?"

"Yes, ma'am. Follow me, and I'll get you set up." The lieutenant escorted the group to a small conference room across the hall. He promised to come back with documents, and then shut the door as he left.

An uncomfortable silence cast a pall over the group while they waited. Finally, Newkirk stood up and paced around his side of the conference table. "Bloody sods."

"Newkirk." Waverly shook his head at the corporal and glanced over at Helga, who looked down at her hands, which were clasped in front of her.

"Pardon, Helga."

She offered her former co-conspirator a small smile.

After another 30 agonizing minutes, the door opened, and the lieutenant, assisted by another American, walked into the room, and piled a large stack of files and heavy books onto the table. "This should be the lot. Took us a while to gather everything. Just let us know when you're done, and please keep everything in order."

"Thank you." Seligman told the two. "Well, where do we start?"

The search took hours, but, finally, Oskar discovered a possible lead. "Here." He pointed to a set of names in an older census book. "Can this be the names?" Everyone crowded around and looked over his shoulder.

"That must be!" Seligman took a closer look. He looked up at the rest of the group. "It's a pity the couple in the marriage contract was not married here. We'd know for sure if we could get the civil marriage records."

"Well, we could go to Düsseldorf," Newkirk offered. "But, it's a right mess, I'm told. Oskar, do these names ring a bell?"

"No," the veterinarian replied. "I worked for two Jewish families, that's all. We did not have a large Jewish population," he explained. "Both families left. I took in one of their cats." He peered at the address in the census record. "That is not in within town limits. It's a more rural property, maybe a few kilometers away from the cave. There are no children listed. We need a newer record."

Helga quickly produced the latest pre-war census. "Here it is." She handed the book to Newkirk, who quickly began scanning the pages.

"Oi," he noted bitterly. "They started singling out Jews in here. This may go a bit quicker." Only the pages being turned could be heard, as the corporal checked the records. Finally, his finger stopped at an entry. "Here it is."

Seligman bent down, read the entry and looked up. "This has to be it. The names match, and the children are in here."

Oskar, Helga and Waverly all took a peek, Oskar taking in a breath. "This next part will not be easy," he commented.

"I know. Let's continue," Waverly stated. The next set of records belonged to the Jewish affairs office in the town. All records of movement, deportation, arrests, or for those lucky enough, emigration, were in those pages.

"Helga and I will look," Oskar told the others. They agreed, and sat back in their seats. Waverly excused himself and went in search of some food, which he shortly brought back.

After a short break, Oskar and Helga continued. Although they knew the Jewish population of the area had disappeared-most to other parts of the country or Eastern Europe-seeing the history in writing obviously took its toll.

"Here they are," Helga whispered. She looked up; the emotion in her face was clear. "The family was deported to the Warsaw ghetto in November, 1941. I'm so sorry."

The faces of the men in the room went pale.

"Well, that's it then." Newkirk's voice shook with emotion. "Even if they managed to survive the disease, starvation, and the deportations, after the uprising, they didn't have a chance."

Waverly put his arm on Newkirk's. "You don't know that; there's always hope."

"He's right. I wouldn't give up until there's word." Oskar took the book from Helga, and closed the cover. "There's bound to be many survivors out there. It may take a while, but once Germany surrenders, they'll come home."

Seligman walked over to Waverly and whispered in his ear. "Will you excuse us for a moment," he then said.

A dejected Newkirk nodded, and the two chaplains left the room, closing the door behind them. Newkirk, Helga and Oskar waited silently for their return.

Waverly was the first one to reenter the room, and he quickly took his seat. "Rabbi Seligman, well, he hasn't been locked up in POW camp. He knows a bit more than we do at this stage. Even more than Colonel Hogan." He paused and looked at his fellow chaplain for assistance.

"I'm not sure how many survivors there are," Seligman said quietly. "I've spoken with men who liberated one of these camps. I was actually heading there when I was diverted to help you all out." He smiled. "Colonel Hogan has a lot of pull."

"That he does." Newkirk looked up. He was now tired and dejected."What do we do with the crates?"

"Leave them with me," Oskar offered. "I will keep them in case anyone returns."

Helga picked up one of the files again, and pored through the records. "Perhaps we can track down neighbors. This isn't a huge populated area. Someone must have known this family. Maybe there are relatives or friends that can take the contents. Or maybe some that emigrated? I knew a few families that left. That is a possibility."

"That's worth a shot." Waverly stood up. "We have two more days. Let's make the most of it. Newkirk?"

"If you say so, sir," he replied glumly.

The group left the town center and traveled in a small convoy to the family's last known address. The area escaped devastation, and civilians were either inside their homes, or milling around outside. After years of being imprisoned, hiding from Germans, or in disguise, Newkirk found the small tableau of normalcy surreal. He then noticed an American squad roaming the streets and manning checkpoints. The jeep pulled up to one, and it was quickly waved through, as was Oskar's van. After they parked, the five exited, and waited for Helga's lead.

"That was their home, over there." She pointed to a small two story home across the street. The five walked over, and Oskar and Helga approached the house. After several moments, the door opened, revealing an older couple. Newkirk could see the man and woman peering around the two Germans in order to get a look at the Allied soldiers waiting nearby. Newkirk stared back at them, and lit a cigarette. After several minutes of a heated conversation, the door slammed shut, and Oskar and Helga turned and quickly walked down the path leading to the street where the corporal waited with the two chaplains.

"I see that didn't go well," Newkirk commented.

"No." Oskar glanced back at the house. "They have been there for several years," he parroted. "They are originally from Düsseldorf, and the local authorities moved them there after they were bombed out. No personal items were left in the home, just the furniture, and they have no idea where the original occupants went, nor do they care."

"Common turn of events," Helga noted. "Look." She pointed to the home next door. The homes were further apart in this small, rural neighborhood, but she could see that it appeared someone was watching through a curtain in the front window.

"Let's try that house, luv." Newkirk didn't wait, but walked over. The rest followed. The face behind the curtain disappeared, and the front door opened before anyone had a chance to knock.

A middle aged woman stepped outside and looked at the party in front of her. "What do you want with the couple over there?" she asked, as she flicked a stray hair off her forehead.

"Nothing," Newkirk answered politely in German. "We are interested in the former occupants of that home."

The woman hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "What do you wish to know?"

"We are looking for any information about them. If there are any relatives, perhaps." Helga answered.

"They received orders to report to the authorities. I have no idea where they went." The woman's face softened. She glanced up and down the street. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be seen speaking with you." Looking at Newkirk, she raised her eyebrow. "Were you at the prison camp?"

"Yes, ma'am. Corporal Newkirk of the RAF." He removed his cap. "If you don't mind my asking. How did you know?"

"I have not seen any British soldiers," was the reply. "But, I can see from your uniform that you are British."

"I think she has some sympathy for us," Waverly told Newkirk after Oskar translated. "Ask her if she is willing to meet with us elsewhere."

"Righto." Newkirk turned and spoke to the woman for several more minutes. He then smiled. "This is Mrs. Franz, and she will come to the town hall tomorrow morning at 10 o'clock."

After leaving the neighborhood, Oskar and Helga went back to town, while Newkirk and the chaplains returned to camp. Waverly and Newkirk were tired and after reporting their progress to London, they rested, while Seligman took care of official business on his end. That evening, Newkirk was able to speak with Colonel Hogan.

"I'm sorry," the colonel told him after hearing that the family was deported to Poland.

"It was a blow, Guv'nor," Newkirk admitted. "But, we'll be chatting with their neighbor tomorrow morning."

* * *

"They were a nice family," Mrs. Franz said the next day, as she sipped a cup of coffee. Oskar was missing this morning, as he had veterinary business to attend to, but Helga sat with Newkirk and the two chaplains. "No thank you, dear." She refused the offer of more American cookies, and Helga passed the plate over to the men. "Two nice children. We had a tree in the backyard, and we allowed them to climb it."

"You and your husband?"

"Yes." The hausfrau reached into her purse and removed some photos. "This is my husband," she said pointing to a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and glasses. "He works in Stuttgart. He used to be a manager at a factory outside of town, but it was bombed." She didn't notice Newkirk look away. "I have not heard from him in a while." Her face clouded over. "And this is my son. He is in the army, but I don't know where he is. My daughter now lives with me. She was bombed out a while back."

Newkirk was impatient, but he knew they had to let Mrs. Franz take her time.

"The Jewish family." She sighed. "The father was a cabinetmaker, and a veteran. But he lost his position a long time ago. She taught piano in her home, but eventually she gave that up."

"They made her give that up," Newkirk muttered to Waverly, who was straining to hear Helga's translation.

"Tell me why you are interested in the Binders," the woman asked.

Seligman nodded at Helga and she explained. "The Americans found some items of theirs hidden in the cave. There were two crates. One held books and one held personal items. We managed to figure out the owners, or at least we think these were the owners. We are just trying to determine where they are so that we can return them."

"Ask her if she was ever in their home, and if so, would she be able to recognize any of these items," Waverly stated. He removed some photos from a briefcase.

Helga did so, and the woman nodded.

Waverly slid the photos over, and the woman looked at them carefully. She placed each one aside when done. "This." She pointed to the menorah. "I saw this once out on Frau Binder's kitchen table. She was polishing it. And I'm sure these books were in a bookshelf by their fireplace. The little boy showed me. Their mother had to take the girl to the doctor when she fell and hurt herself. I watched the boy for several hours. This was quite some time ago. Before things really got worse for the Jews."

"So we have an absolute identification." Newkirk reached over and patted the woman's hand. "Thank you," he said. "And do they have other family, maybe elsewhere?" he asked hopefully.

Mrs. Franz shook her head. "None overseas that I know of. They were talking about leaving." Her voice lowered. "But, I don't think they were able to get a visa. And their money was short. You understand? She had a sister somewhere in Bavaria, but she had not heard from her for quite some time. They were probably deported as well. I don't know about her sister's husband. After a while, it was too dangerous to communicate. They left us alone." She took another sip of coffee and placed the cup back on the saucer. "The children would be teenagers by now," she sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Helga smiled at the woman. "You've been a lot of help. And we appreciate you coming here. We know this is difficult."

The woman shrugged. "I may have lost my husband and my son. All I have is my daughter, now. I just want it to be over." she whispered, wiping tears from her eyes. "They were people, just like my family. They never hurt anyone, or did anything to me."

"Would you like us to arrange transportation for you back to your house?" Helga asked, as they all walked out of the building.

"No. I have business in town. I will make my own way." She turned to Newkirk. "I wish you luck, Corporal Newkirk."

"You as well." He kissed her hand, making her blush. "I hope your husband and son return home."

She returned his wishes with a wistful smile and walked away.

* * *

 _Not all the deaths occurred in the death/concentration camps. Millions of Jewish civilians were shot or died by other methods. **Not all victims of the Holocaust were Jewish**. An estimated 5 million others (Gypsies, Slavs, political opponents, homosexuals, disabled, those who spoke up against the regime, clergy, those they considered undesirable, etc.) also died. For more information, there are many reliable sources available in libraries and on the internet, including The Simon Weisenthal center, the various Holocaust museums and memorials. Look for sites ending in .org and .edu. Please be careful if searching on the internet, as some searches will bring you to denier's websites._


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

"Colonel Hogan. I'm surprised you agreed to let your chaplain and one of your prime operatives remain behind in camp, rather than attend their debriefing." To everyone's utter disgust, a high-ranking SHAEF official disagreed with the decision to allow Newkirk and Waverly to stay behind. The close-knit group now faced his wrath, as well as the disapproval from members of Eisenhower's staff and occupation authorities.

"Corporal Newkirk, why in heaven's name did you waste your time and resources on this project? "

One look from Hogan kept Newkirk from rising out of his seat in anger, and the colonel spoke before Newkirk answered the question.

"Major Braxton cleared this with London, Colonel Kelly." was Hogan's icy response. "And what my corporal and chaplain did was on my authority," he added. "I'm responsible."

Newkirk could clearly see the tension present in his commander's face.

"May I remind you there is still a war on. And I asked your corporal the question, not you. You are no longer a prisoner, Hogan. Newkirk can speak for himself."

"May I interject?" Waverly raised his hand.

"No, you may not, Lieutenant. It is my understanding that this whole scenario was initiated by the corporal. Who cared what was in those crates? What the hell difference does it make?"

"My family is over here, sir. I sacrificed seeing them sooner, didn't I?"

"Well, that was their loss and your loss, wasn't it, corporal?" was the caustic reply. "And if you ask me, a bit selfish on your part."

"They already knew I was liberated, I was. It's not that I could go home right away now, is it?" Newkirk stated bitterly. "Colonel Hogan explained it to them. And there's nothing you can do to me now that is any worse than spending five years of me life locked up in a prison camp. Sir!"

"Newkirk!" Hogan winced and rubbed his forehead. He was rapidly developing a headache as he tried to keep his volatile friend from getting into more hot water.

Waverly had enough and broke in. "Colonel Kelly, these men deserve to be treated as liberated prisoners of war and cared for, not as members of your own personal clandestine unit!"

"Lieutenant!" Hogan's headache now threatened to turn into a migraine.

"Sorry, sir. Permission to speak freely?" Waverly looked at Kelly, and something in the chaplain's eyes gave the SHAEF officer pause.

"Go ahead, Chaplain."

"The Chaplain Corps is aware of our small mission. In fact, as you could see in the written report, another chaplain had permission to leave his unit in order to accompany Corporal Newkirk and myself. He assisted with the research. I will also reiterate, that in addition to Corporal Newkirk, other liberated members of Colonel Hogan's team volunteered to join us. I can and will file a complaint if this continues."

Kelly angrily closed the file and pulled back his chair. He stood up and refused to look at the three men still seated at the table. "Fine. I will recommend that this whole matter be forgotten. And despite your concerns, Lieutenant Waverly, we do understand that we are dealing with liberated prisoners. I'll make a note to pass that on."

"See that you do that, Kelly." Hogan stood up. "Newkirk, Lieutenant. Let's go."

Kelly turned. "One more thing."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Hogan asked.

"I know what your men did, but I will ask again. Why? What is the point? We have an entire ethnic group persecuted and murdered, as well as countless others. God knows how many. Why waste time over crates of books and personal mementos?"

Newkirk took a deep breath to control his anger and frustration, and then spoke before Hogan had a chance to reply to Kelly's questions.

"Because, sir. You officers, the prime minister, the generals, the president; once this war is over, they'll be dealing with other stuff. I bet they'll be too busy worrying 'bout the big picture, fixing things, and all the people moving about. Every one of those people had a name, a family. Dreams for their children. They were all human beings, not some number. They don't deserve to be forgotten."

"I see." Kelly reached for the file and exited the room, leaving the three former prisoners in silence.

"Well said, Newkirk." Hogan said a moment later. He grabbed the corporal's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze in a show of support.

"Pity others couldn't hear that little speech," said Waverly.

"Well, I'm not much of a speechmaker, but I guess me emotions got the better of me. Just wish we could have saved some of these people."

Hogan frowned. "I wish we could have. I've thought about it everyday since... " Hogan paused. "What do you say we meet up with the others and have a bite to eat? Then there's more debriefing to go through. The faster we get through this, the faster we can all go home."

 _HhHhH_

Two years after VE day, Newkirk lived in one of the small prefab houses dotting areas of London destroyed during the war. He, along with a few friends, now ran a pub off Marylebone Road. Times were hard and rationing was still a part of life, but despite offers of sponsorship from Hogan, the former POW refused to leave his city and his family, and move to the United States. He was still in frequent touch with his former mates, and he and LeBeau had visited each other in their respective cities.

This day brought bittersweet memories to the surface. After two years, no survivors came to reclaim the crates, and a search of the lists and displaced persons camps proved fruitless. The ex-prisoners and their German colleagues agreed to ship the crates over to Newkirk. They now sat in his living room.

"So, do you have any plans for the books and other things?" Hogan was on one of his frequent visits back to Europe, and he facilitated the shipment, personally accompanying the crates from Germany to England, and then to Newkirk's home.

"I'm going to donate them to that library I told you about."

"The one in Whitechapel?" Hogan asked.

Newkirk nodded. "Seems fitting."

"Yes, it does." Hogan took a swig of beer as he looked around at Newkirk's home. It was plain and simply furnished, but cozy. He smiled as Newkirk's fiancée, a plate of snacks in her hand, entered the living room.

"We're so glad you were able to visit, General."

"Call me Robert, Emily. And it's my pleasure. I'll definitely be back for your wedding."

"Somehow, Guv'nor, with all your contacts, friends in high places and knack for figuring things out, I thought we'd find someone to take these things off our hands. Someone connected with the family."

Hogan became thoughtful and quiet for a moment. "Peter, we can't fix everything. It hurts, but the truth is often painful."

"I know," Newkirk sighed. "Sorry, guv. Didn't mean to put you on a pedestal. That's Andrew's job."

Hogan chuckled. "He'd give you what for if he heard you say that."

"Me dad used to say that. I'll make you an East Ender yet." Newkirk grinned.

"Remember that little speech you made that day? To Kelly?"

"That bureaucrat you told me about?" Emily poked Newkirk. "What speech?"

"It was nothin','" Newkirk sprung up, and as a way to change the subject, headed for the kitchen. "We have any of those biscuits left, luv?"

"Cabinet above the cooker." Emily rolled her eyes. "He has a tendency to leave some things out, Robert." She headed over to the armchair on the other side of the coffee table and sat down.

"We all do," Hogan replied. "I think some things may never be spoken of." He turned his head around and watched as Newkirk returned with a plate of cookies.

"These won't go with beer." Newkirk chuckled. "I'll put on the kettle."

"I'll take care of it." Emily popped up and gave her fiancée a kiss on the cheek. "But first, put those down and tell me about that speech. Please," she added.

"All right." Newkirk placed the plate on the coffee table. "It was right after the chaplain and meself got back to England. This bloke Kelly called us in for a meetin'. He was miffed that we hadn't come along with the rest of us, those that were left at camp after most of the men were shipped out." He looked at Hogan.

"I got word of this and made it to the meeting." Hogan grabbed one of the biscuits, and not caring that he was drinking beer, took a bite.

"He backed me up, luv. And so did the chaplain. He was mad and threatened to complain to his command."

"Lieutenant Waverly? You told me he was kind of quiet," Emily commented as she took a seat on the sofa.

"That's right, luv. He spoke up." Newkirk grinned at Hogan. "I think his time in the ole stalag rubbed off."

"He grew," was Hogan's only response.

Newkirk let out a sigh. "We were already down in the dumps because of the information we found about these people. Thinking they were most likely murdered. And then Kelly had to call us on the carpet."

"He asked why," Hogan interjected.

"Why what?" Emily asked. Her face showed a mixture of concern and curiosity, her nose wrinkling in the endearing way that initially attracted Newkirk to her.

"Why waste our time on one family out of millions." Newkirk plopped on the couch and wrapped his arm around Emily's back. "You see, it's hard to wrap your head around all these figures. But one person, or one family? Well, it gets more personal then, don't it? The Nazis were experts at dehumanizing groups. And you multiply one person or family by the numbers and you realize all these people had families, friends, connections."

"Just like everyone," Emily stated.

"Yes, Emily. That's right. They weren't just victims," Hogan said soberly. "Peter told him that every one of those people had a name, a family. Hopes and dreams for their children. They were all human beings, not some number. They don't deserve to be forgotten." Hogan put down his beer and sank back into the back of the sofa

 **"** Well, what did that, that blighter, say to that, then? I hope he came to his senses," said Emily, indignant that anyone would question her fiancé's honest motives.

"Naw, 'e just shut up an' walked away," Newkirk replied.

"I think it finally occurred to him that he wouldn't be so unconcerned if it was HIS family gone missing and this was all that was left," Hogan added.

They drank their tea in silence; each lost in their thoughts.

"I was hoping for at least one happy ending," Newkirk finally stated. He blew out his cheeks in frustration, then stood up and walked over to the crates, which sat on the other side of the room.

Emily suddenly straightened up. "They failed."

Newkirk turned. "Wot, luv? Who failed?"

Hogan, too, straightened, as his mind caught up to Emily's spark of realization.

She explained. "Them Nazis wanted to rid the world of people like the Binders. They wanted more than that; they wanted the world to forget they ever existed. And their simple act of courage…saving those books and parts of their culture and religion, so you could find them…well, don't you see?"

"They defied the regime, and so did we." Hogan stood up, and along with Emily, walked over to the crates. He put his arm around his corporal.

"There will be questions we may never be able to answer. But Emily is right. It may not seem like it now, maybe not for a century. But the Nazis failed because we are here to talk about it, and we are here to remember their victims and the survivors. People will see these items in the library, Peter. And Londoners and their children will learn and then teach others, so this never happens again. And there will be other ways to remember. It just may take a while. It's still too close."

"You shouldn't feel guilty that you couldn't help everyone, but you definitely made a difference." Emily said. "If more people spoke up in the beginning instead of throwing their hands up, well who knows what could have been prevented."

"We did do a lot of good. And some things I'm not so proud of. Not ashamed to admit it." Newkirk walked back to the living room, and perched on the edge of the sofa arm. He offered Emily a small smile, and she smiled back, knowing better than to ask for an explanation. "This is something right we did; didn't involve any killing." He walked over to the sideboard, poured some wine into three glasses and brought them back over to where Hogan and Emily were waiting.

"Well-said, Peter."

"Without you, Guv'nor, we wouldn't have been in the position to find these things." Newkirk raised his glass. "To the Binders, and all the innocent victims."

Hogan and Emily raised their glasses. "To the Binders, and all the innocent victims," they repeated _._

The end

* * *

a/n: I would like to thank Sgt. Hakeswill and Missy the Least for their assistance with the last part of this chapter.


End file.
